


Falling in love will kill you

by ColorfulStabwound



Series: A Million Little Pieces [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Falling In Love, First Love, M/M, Sickness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 04:42:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2216232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scorpius Malfoy has been sick since the end of term and he's convinced he's dying. There is no other possible explanation for the way he's feeling. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling in love will kill you

I think I’m coming down with something.

 

It’s a week into summer holiday and I can hardly stand to get out of bed at all. My father’s house elf has taken to popping in at regular intervals to check on me, which should amuse me greatly but instead it only annoys me. I’m buried under a thick duvet in my room and I hear it. Standing there. _Breathing._ If I weren’t dreadfully sick I’d probably yell.

 

“What now?” I mutter from beneath the covers and I flop over on my side, turning my back to the creature that was probably beside itself with worry.  When it tells me for the nth time that my father is requesting my presence at dinner I sigh heavily and stick my hand out from the bunched up blanket to wave it away.

 

“I’m not hungry.” I say and then I huff indignantly at how little my father actually cares about my well-being. You would think he based his entire life around bloody meals. “Tell him I won’t be making it to dinner on account of being DEAD.” The elf gasps in horror and I smile with grim satisfaction from beneath my soft and comfortable tomb. The telltale ‘pop’ of its departure is the last I hear from it and I close my eyes, wishing for sleep.

 

~

 

“Gran, I’m not seeing a healer.” I’m still beneath my duvet prison when my grandmother comes in to check on me hours later. I’ve carved out a miniscule breathing tunnel with a bonus view of the drawn windows on the other side of my room and judging by the waning sunlight I can guess that my father has departed the manor like he does every night and that is why my grandmother has taken up the task of trying to rouse me from bed. I have no idea where he goes or what he does while he’s out; my mother suggests he’s hiding a scandalous and torrid affair in some swanky hotel suite somewhere, but that could just be the liquor talking. Not that I care. If his scandal keeps him busy and out of my hair, I approve.

 

“I’m worried about you sweet pea. Let me call a healer. You won’t even have to get out of bed.” Her voice behind me reminds me that she was still in my room and I sigh and frown and want to pout—For no other reason than I simply cannot say no to her.

 

**_Damn it._ **

 

“Fine.” I grumble and pull the covers tighter around my head. The sound of the door closing tells me I am alone once again and I sigh heavily and wonder what is wrong with me.

 

The tightness in my chest is like a thousand tiny pinpricks that pierce my skin repeatedly and I am instantly reminded of uncle Theodore’s tattoos. The only difference is, you can’t see mine. Does that make them worse somehow? I spend the rest of the night contemplating life threatening illnesses and the likelihood that I have contracted one. I consider writing out my will but then instantly dismiss the idea. Who would even be in my will? What would I give them? Would anyone besides my own family mourn me if I were gone? 

 

The sun disappears behind the horizon and the moon is hanging brightly in the sky and still I lie there in my bed, contemplating death and the impact that I wouldn’t make if I were gone. By the time I drift off to sleep, twilight has given way to the dead of night and the owls that call out in the inky blackness beyond my window are like beacons of truth. Relentlessly hunting for something they could call their own—I had more in common with them than I realized.

 

~

 

The next morning I am roused awake by the elf yet again, who informs me that my grandmother is on her way up with the healer and I can’t even muster a snarky response. Instead I just yawn and curl up into a tighter ball.

 

“Sweet pea? Are you decent? I’ve brought the healer to have a look at you.” Her voice calls from the door as it cracks open and I can’t help but roll my eyes; thankfully she can’t see me do it from where she stands. I love my grandmother to death but sometimes she forgets that I am not my father.

 

I grumble incoherently but otherwise don’t move, listening as the healer asked my grandmother to give us some privacy. The door closes again and footsteps draw closer to my bed, the soft shift of the mattress indicating that he had sat down on the edge of it.

 

“Scorpius?” His voice was soothing and coaxing but I didn’t budge. Not even an inch.

 

“I’d like to examine you if that’s alright. So we can find out what’s bothering you.” He sounds young for a healer and I quirk a brow from beneath my duvet, mildly curious as to what incurable disease he would diagnose me with.

 

“Fine, but I warn you, I’m probably contagious.” I flop the covers off of my head and roll over onto my back, peering at him from behind narrowed and glassy blue eyes. He **was** young. Late twenties-early thirties at the most and the darkest hair I’d ever seen—Even darker than Albus’ hair. Ugh. The thought of Albus makes the ache inside of me spike and I gasp under my breath, gaze cutting to the healer who didn’t seem to notice my sudden distress.

 

“I’ll take my chances.” The healer replies with a smile and he urges me to sit up before beginning his examination. He touches my forehead and behind my ears and performs an obscene amount of spells on me that bring up various meters and lines and sparks of color. I watch him curiously as he works, understanding nothing except the grave nature of my state.

 

“Well, am I dying?” I ask him as I watch him put his various instruments away. I feel pretty much the same as I had before he’d started and I doubt there is anything to be done really.

 

“You are in perfect physical health.” He announces, setting his bag aside and resting his hands in his lap.  “Why don’t you describe to me what you’re feeling.” He adds with an encouraging nod.

 

“Perfect physical health..?” I repeat and my mouth turns down into a frown. How could this be? I feel _awful_ , surely there is something wrong with me.

 

I glance back up at him as he talks and I chew on my bottom lip thoughtfully before answering.

 

“I feel like my insides are on fire. **All** the time. Sometimes my heart races so fast that I can’t breath very good and my head feels fuzzy; like it’s stuck in a plastic tube. Frankly, I feel like I’ve been hit by the Hogwarts Express.”  My dramatic recounting of my symptoms sounds more like a pleading whisper and I flop back against the headboard when I am finished and heave a heavy sigh, doubting now more than ever that he can help me.

 

He sits there for a long time without saying anything at all. I begin to wonder what it is that he isn’t saying to me. Maybe I really _am_ going to die.

 

I peer at him nervously and just a little bit expectantly; both wanting to hear what he had to say, and not wanting to hear it at all. Finally he smiles at me and I am more confused than ever. 

 

“You’re not dying and you haven’t contracted a mysterious illness. Like I said you are in perfect physical health. I think…” He pauses and seems to consider his next words very carefully.  “I think that your problems are of a…mental nature. Perhaps you should speak with someone.” He smiles again and looks almost apologetic and I frown and shake my head.

 

“Mental nature? I’m not pretending if that’s what you think. Did my father put you up to this? How many galleons did he pay you?” I don’t mean to be so rude; at least I don’t think I do, but honestly. What did the healer expect? You don’t go around calling people mental without a few repercussions.

 

“I assure you Scorpius, your father or anyone else had nothing to do with this. This is my professional observation.”  His mouth turned down in the slightest frowns that I mirrored. 

 

“I don’t understand…” I whisper as my fingers curl into my blanket and I tug it up over half of my face, leaving only eyes and hair. I suddenly do not like this man at all and want him out of my room. Clearly Gran had skimped on the cost of a private healer cause this guy is a nut.

 

“Surely you have someone that you can talk to? If not a family member then perhaps a friend. I think that you’ll find your problems are not quite as life threatening as you think once you have a proper chat about the why.” He is smiling again, which does nothing to calm me. At all.

 

“Why do you keep saying that? You know nothing about me.” I narrow my eyes at him and shudder beneath the covers and the sharp sting of fresh pain twists around my insides.

 

Suddenly I am very angry, and I know it is probably more than a little irrational, but I can’t help it. My entire life people have been making assumptions and drawing their own conclusions about me, and now this man—A healer who is a _clear_ failure at his job is judging me. It is just too much.

 

“Please leave.” I add and then I slide down on my bed and roll over and allowed my eyes to go out of focus as I stare out the window and tell myself that the sting is from the brightness of the sun.

 

I hear him sigh as he gets up and makes his way back to the door but I ignore it. I am done talking. By the time the door shuts behind him I am well out of reach of the conversation that takes place between him and my grandmother. I would never know that he tells her precisely what she has already guessed and that she had smiled—Actually smiled at his news.

 

I brood for a long time and it isn’t until my left foot falls asleep that I decide that maybe it is a good idea to get out of bed; even for a little bit. I limp around my room and think about what the healer had told me. Now that I’m not so angry it seems silly and makes me want to laugh. I still feel like I’ve been run over by a steam engine, but I am okay.

 

Maybe I really _am_ mental.

 

I sit down at my desk and prop my chin in my hand and wonder what I should do. I’m not irrational, I’m not crazy, so why am I feeling the way I do?  Suddenly a thought occurs to me and I pull open the top drawer and pluck out a sheet of parchment that bears the Malfoy crest. I snatch up my quill and quickly pen an owl and then I quietly let myself out of my room and sneak through the manor undetected. When I reach the grounds I take off in a run towards the owlery and for those few fleeting moments I feel better than I have all week. 

 

As I watch my owl take flight I heaved a huge sigh of relief and feel oddly like the smallest weight has been lifted off of my chest.  Maybe I really do just need to talk to someone.

 

Hopefully he comes soon.

 

_Dear Uncle Theodore,_

_I need to speak with you as soon_

_as possible. It’s extremely important._

_Come as soon as you can._

_Love, Scorpius_

_P.S.-Don’t tell my father_

To be continued…

 

 

 


End file.
